Fly Me Courageous
by Reber02
Summary: Lex is kidnapped by people that want his secrets .*Chapter 7* Clark has another nightmare, and Lex fights against his interrogator.
1. Best Laid Plans

Fly Me Courageous

By Annabell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.

Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.

This is un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.

Note: This takes place as though Tempest never happened. Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.

Archive: Hell yeah!

_I've got you on the loose_

_I left you provin'_

_I've got you on the beat_

_I left you broken_

_But won't you take my place?_

_Its not as though I wandered_

_Way up on the cliff _

_With the brilliance of an angel_

_So fly me, courageous._

_So fly me, courageous_

_  Drivin N Cryin_

Chapter one

The Best Laid Plans

The silver Porsche purred to a halt on the gravel shoulder of the rural Kansas highway as the late August afternoon began to slide into twilight. Opening the door, he stepped out onto the blacktop, feeling the searing heat through the soles of his loafers and seeing the haze in the distance, making the flat expanse of wheat fields shimmer in the thick, sultry air.

The cooling engine ticked softly under the hood. In the grassy ditches lining the empty road, grasshoppers whirred a counterpoint to the chirping crickets. Slouching easily against the sleek silver side, Lex watched the reddening sun as it dipped toward the horizon through half-lidded eyes, heat rippling the scene as if it were underwater. A slight breeze brushed sluggishly against his sweat-damped face, and then died. As if it were too much effort to even try to move the heavy air. His razor sharp gaze swept the horizon. As far as he could see, there was nothing, not even a farmhouse in the distance to spoil the treasured feeling of solitariness. Just sweeping fields of golden wheat, ripe for harvesting. A wonderful metaphor, and his lips quirked at the thought.

A world of possibilities stretched out in front of him, ready for the harvest.

"Soon," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "This will be mine." And he wasn't talking about just the wheat either. Lex meant _all_ of it. For a moment, the Luthor heir indulged himself the fantasy that all of this belonged to him, and only him. The ironic thing was that the fantasy was now on it's way to becoming the reality.

Breathing in the thick air, he knew that this was probably the last time he will ever feel such peace. He was coming back to Smallville after personally taking his 'formula' to the US Patent Office in Metropolis. As soon as his contact at the Office pushed it through and granted him the patent, everything would change. This was the first step in his plan that would, with some luck, end in his main goal: to rule the world before he was 25. 

Absently scuffing the toe of his shoe against the blacktop, he thought about what the future held. He knew as soon as the truth of his formula got out, life would go into high gear. There would be those like his father who would try to control him and his formula. Ironically, it was thanks to his father that he knew he could deal with them easily. It was the others who would paint more of a problem, because they would try to stop him by any means necessary. Any means necessary, mostly likely including killing him. Lex was nobody's fool. He knew by what he was setting into motion, he was figuratively painting a target right on his back.  But he would have it no other way.  

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  _

The setting sun cast his normally pale features a ruddy hue, glinting off his designer sunglasses.  It would take two, maybe three days for the patent to come through. He had paid enough in bribes for his contact to get it done. And as soon as his had it, he would set the ball into play. He nearly grinned when he tried to imagine the howls of outrage that would be coming from his father's tower when Lionel figured out what Lex had spent the last four years developing in his lab. But by then, it would be too late.  Lex's plan would be unfolding and he would take the world by storm. He knew that some would hail him a savior; others would label him a destroyer. Idly, he wondered which category Clark would file him under. 

Clark Kent, his best friend. His _only_ friend. 

He hadn't told Clark what he was doing. He hadn't told anybody what he was doing. Four years ago, while sitting in Advanced Chemistry, and idea had slammed it's way into his head, much like the way the meteors had slammed into Smallville. 

_Wham!_

As the professor droned on and on, oblivious to what was happening to the bald student in the back row, Lex sat transfixed by what had started as an idle thought was clicking into what was becoming a full-blown theory. Click! Click! Wham! He had immediately started typing notes on his laptop, biting his lip in frustration that his hands was not even near fast enough to keep up with his speeding thoughts. He kept typing, not stopping for spelling errors or clarification. So absorbed in his revelation, he didn't notice the rest of the class file out, giving him curious glances as they left.

"Mr. Luthor?" 

Pulled away from the sweetest high that can only come from creativity at it's most exquisite, Lex blinks up at the professor, coming out of a dream. "Wha-what?"

"The class is over, Mr. Luthor. Unless you want to sit in on Ms. Jones' pre-chem."  The old man did not like Lex, and they both knew it. But the weight of Lionel's billions kept the professor's dislike from becoming…overt.

Lex dismissed the old codger with a careless, "No thanks. I already understand oxidation-reduction reactions." Flipping the laptop closed, he stood up and placing the computer in his leather briefcase, left the professor standing alone, puzzled that the young Luthor hadn't bothered to bait him in the usual manner.

For his part, Lex was still pondering his idea. One thing he had learned from his father was to consider every angle, every possibility, every eventuality, and after that, then, and only then do you proceed.  Heading to the library, he locked himself in a study room, sat down and stared at the wall, his agile mind turning over his idea, until the true weight of the possibilities hit him. 

"Fuck," he breathed. "I could own the world. It's so easy!"

And it was. He couldn't believe how easy it would be. Lex's eyes narrowed. Surely someone else must have thought of this before. Then it hit him. It occurred to Lex that he should be grateful that it was only ideas that were hitting him, because with all the hitting going on, he would have been pretty beat up by now. 

Pulling himself away from that tangent, he realized that yes, someone else probably would have thought of this before, and for some reason, hadn't followed through. Why?  

Because someone had stopped them, that's why, Lex.

Well, Lex Luthor was not going to allow anyone to stop him. He would go ahead and act on his idea, make his plans, and rule the world. But in the meantime…

"I have to act like there is nothing out of the ordinary going on." Lex gritted his teeth. He would have to keep going to the clubs, skipping school, getting into trouble like business as usual. Because if anyone noticed an abrupt change in his behavior, there would be questions…and suspicions. So, life as usual, if you were the only son of a billionaire who was currently determined to get thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. 

But in a way, that was exactly the right move to make, because it lead to his exile in Smallville, and precious free time, and all of Lionel's spies were easy to identify. At last he could work in peace, if the price for that peace meant getting clocked in the head every other week by some freak mutant that seemed to pop out of the woodwork, then so be it.  And after he was done conquering the world, then he would come back here to Smallville in find out what exactly was up with the meteor rocks.

Abruptly, Lex realized what he was doing. "Well, standing around here isn't going to get the world conquered."

Pushing away from the Porsche, Lex got back in and started the engine with a growl and a scream of tires announced to the still countryside that Lex Luthor had been there. He was a half hour away from the castle and still had to make a pit stop in Smallville, sort of an insurance stop. Then all he had to do was wait. 

And reap the whirlwind. 

TBC


	2. On a Deserted Road

Fly Me Courageous

By Annabell

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.

Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.

This is un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.

Note: This takes place as though Tempest never happened. Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.

Archive: Hell yeah!

The sun was nearly down by now.  The Earth's nearest star was barely visible over the flat Kansas landscape. Having left the interstate several miles back, the more rural two-lane was just as deserted. The Porsche purred smoothly, it's engine noise barely discernable above the hum of the air conditioner.  Driving directly into the setting sun, he almost missed the warning signal directly ahead.

Lex downshifted abruptly, frowning at the wooden barricade coming into site. The orange flashing lights blinked on and off at regular intervals, announcing something had gone wrong up ahead. The Porsche crept within a few yards of the roadblock, as if it were trying to get it out of the way through sheer force of it's driver's will. But the barrier remained stubbornly immovable.

A road worker, dressed in jeans and tank top, wearing a blaze orange vest stumped over to the driver's side and Lex hit the power button, the window sliding soundlessly down to allow the sultry evening air into the air conditioned car. "What's going on?" Lex asked casually. The man put a grimy hand on the top of the door and leaned down to talk to the billionaire's son. Lex could smell the man's sweat and dirt as it wafted through the open window.

"Sorry, Mr. Luthor. The road up ahead has buckled due to the heat. You are going to have to find a different route." The man's brown eyes stared steadily at him.

Repressing an exhale of annoyance, Lex gave a thin-lipped smile to the helpful crewmember and thanked him for the information. He was just starting to roll up the window again when the man dropped his hand onto the window frame, giving Lex the choice of either crushing his fingers in the closing window, or leaving the window open. Lex opted to give the man a chance to keep his fingers. He didn't need a lawsuit right now. Not when he was so close to getting everything.  "Was there something else?" Lex's tone was enough to drop the air temperature a few degrees, but the man was oblivious.

"Yes, sir. There is," and with a nod of his head he looked to the passenger side of the Porsche. Lex followed his gaze and went completely still. He was looking down the sleek barrel of a gun, a Glock to be accurate, pointed directly at his heart through the car window. He forced himself to inhale slowly and keep his features neutral. He had grown up with the threat of being kidnapped and ransomed for money all his life.  The man holding the gun must have been hiding in the ditch alongside the road, waiting for him. He was wearing a ski mask, and in the back of his mind, Lex wondered if it was as hot as it looked. 

It was a trap, and he had walked right into it. Or driven, if you wanted to keep things accurate.

_'Not now! Dammit!'_ Feeling more annoyed then afraid, Lex looked back at the sweaty guy still hovering over his side of the car. Not letting his irritation show, he smirked just a little. One thing he had learned over the years of dealing with his father was to not let his true feelings show, at all. If he were concerned that he was a hairsbreadth away from death, you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him. "You know, this really isn't a good time for me. Maybe you could come back next week and kidnap me then. Or better yet, how about next month. I'll clear a space on my calendar just for you," he offered, without much hope that they'd take him up on it.

Orange Vest wasn't biting. "Get out of the car, Mr. Luthor." 

"So I take it the road is fine up ahead?" Lex asked trying to stall for time as he slowly undid his seatbelt. He thought about just flooring it and going for it. Then he saw an old rusty pickup truck pull into view ahead of the barricade and another pull up behind the Porsche, effectively boxing him in. The drivers were wearing bandanas over the lower parts of their faces, like bandits from a cheesy western.  Lex knew instantly that they wouldn't kill him. If that were the case, they wouldn't be concerned about him seeing their faces. He figured that Orange Vest was going on a long vacation in the near future.

"Got out of the car, Mr. Luthor. I don't want to tell you again." Orange Vest said, his voice bland. "And don't even try to pick up the cell phone." To add to the effect, the drivers of both vehicles produced shotguns and pointed them at him as well.

Not seeing any alternative at this time, Lex turned off the engine and opened the door. As soon as his foot hit the asphalt, Orange Vest grabbed him by the collar of his silk shirt and hauling him to his feet and spinning him around until his chest was pressed tight against the side of the car and his arms were brutally pulled behind his back. 

Lex protested as he felt his wrists tied tightly together with thin nylon rope. "Hey, if you tie me that tight, I'll be in serious danger of loosing my hands," he said in he hoped what was a reasonable tone. 

"It doesn't matter, it's what is in your head that's important," was the monotone reply. Lex was jerked back by the scruff of the collar of the dark blue silk shirt he was wearing and turned around to face his captors. But Lex was determined not to show the discomfort. The only sign was the slightest clenching of his jaw muscles as he was relieved of his wallet, cell phone, watch and other personal accessories. 

The Glock man handed the gun to Orange Vest and walked around behind Lex. Lex didn't drop his razor sharp gaze from Orange Vest's. Lex told him with his eyes exactly what was going to happen to the kidnapper when Lex got the upper hand. Lex imagined every horrible thing that could be done to a human being and promised that that was only the beginning. Orange Vest would beg for death by the time Lex was through with him.

Orange Vest stared back uncomprehending at the dangerous stare. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Lex gave up. There was no use wasting effort on that divot. How could you intimidate someone who was dense at lead? From behind him, Glock man produced a cloth handkerchief and looped it around Lex's head, pulling it tight between his teeth and knotting it at the base of his skull. Lex nearly gagged as the horrible flavors of sweat and dirt filled his mouth. What the hell had Glock man been using that thing for? He deliberately blanked his mind. 

Nodding to Glock man behind him, Orange Vest pulled Lex to the pickup parked behind the Porsche. Lex heard the Porsche's engine come to life and turned just in time to see Glock man do a neat u-turn and take off down the road the way Lex had just come. _My car!_ Lex thought, the slow burn of anger beginning to seethe in the back of his mind. Then Orange Vest opened the passenger side door of the pickup truck.

Lex was shoved rudely into the small space behind the pickup's front seats. His tied hands were unable to prevent his shoulder from landing hard on a tire iron. He twisted around on his back to glare up at Orange Vest. Orange Vest merely smirked and dropped a filthy canvas over Lex, hiding him from any casual observers. The gag forced him to breath through his nose and the smell was _appalling._ Closing his eyes, Lex concentrated. _'I will not vomit. I will not vomit.'_ The thought of yakking while wearing a gag was almost enough to send him into a panic. Only years of ruthless self-control prevented that unholy mess from happening.

The door slammed shut and with a roar, the pickup pulled away, leaving no sign that Lex Luthor had ever been there. All in all, the whole thing took les than five minutes. The driver pulled his bandana down and flipped on the radio. Garth Brooks was yammering something about friends in low places. Behind them, Lex was sure he had descended into the very pits of Hell.

They knew better than to speak. If he heard a voice Lex might someday be able to identify the driver in a court of law. Careful to drive the speed limit, they made their way through Smallville. They had just passed by the local coffee shop when the driver had to slam on the brakes, narrowly missing a couple of kids, who, not watching had walked out right in front of them.  Laying on the horn, the two kids stepped out of the way, glaring sheepishly. 

"Stupid kids," Orange Vest muttered as the pickup picked up speed once more and headed out of Smallville.

"Hey, earth to Clark! You just gonna stand there all day?" Pete asked, seeing Clark still standing, gazing after the pickup truck that nearly hit them. 

Clark shook his head to snap himself back to the here and now. "No, I'm coming," he replied and followed after his friend. Thoughts of meeting with Chloe to discuss their English paper took the place of the near miss, and by the time they entered the Talon, the pickup was forgotten entirely.

TBC


	3. Fast Cars

Fly Me Courageous

By Annabell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.

Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.

This is un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.

Note: This takes place as though Tempest never happened. Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.

Archive: Hell yeah!

Chapter 3

"Man, I can_not_ believe you, Chloe. Two weeks left of summer vacation and you want to work on a school project?" Pete gaped at Chloe as if she had grown a third head. He had only half believed her when she called and asked him and Clark to meet her at the Talon to work on an English paper.  The heat of the day was dissipating now that the sun was down, but the air still felt uncomfortably hot and humid, especially for those who lived without the luxury of air conditioning. "And you think that we would believe that you just _casually_ bumped into Mrs. Sanderson and the subject of out first paper _just happened_ to come up? I mean c'mon! I'm seriously thinking you are psycho."

"Hey, I think she just wants to get a head start," Clark tried to defend his friend, although privately he agreed with Pete. It wouldn't have been so bad if she did it by herself, but Chloe had a knack of getting Clark and Pete to go along with her ideas, not matter how much either of them didn't want to. She was like a force of nature. Or maybe a bully, Clark couldn't decide which. 

"A paper on local history isn't hard, guys. "Chloe argued as she stirred her coffee. She hated to admit that she had been bored over summer vacation. It had been a quiet summer, with nothing new to add to her Wall of Weird. This way she could have an excuse to hang out with Pete and Clark. But on hindsight, maybe homework wasn't such a hot idea, relatively speaking as she noted their distinct lack of enthusiasm. 

Clark, ever the softhearted, saw her face fall. He knew he was defeated. "At least Chloe is making it interesting with the abandoned houses angle." Trying to look on the bright side.

As the years passed, and commercial farming gradually took the place of the family farm, more and more farmsteads had been abandoned. Houses stood empty, open to the winds and seasons long after the families that had lived there moved to the cities in search of a better life.

"Oh alright. I know the perfect place," Pete said, seeing Clark give in, knew he didn't stand a chance. He felt better when he saw Chloe's face brighten. 

"Where?" she asked eagerly.

"You know that old Stockardd farm on the other side of town?" Pete asked. "My older brother and his pals would go there and party sometimes after football games."

The forgotten farmstead, still known as the Stockardd place, abandoned for too many years still stood silently.  Miles away from the nearest neighbor, it was surrounded by waist-high grass that had returned to prairie.  Occasionally, high school kids used the place for an illicit kegger. But the rotting floors and caving wooden walls discouraged the party crowd. The barn had long since given up the ghost, reduced to a pile of timbers by a ferocious windstorm years earlier. The rafters still stuck up like the bleached skeletal ribs of some prehistoric beast that died ages ago. Nowadays, the only human to come within shouting distance was the farmer who tended the fields surrounding the house and, sitting in the enclosed cab of the tractor and listening to the radio, he never even spared the farmstead a glance.

Local kids liked to tell each other that the place was haunted. Adults didn't discourage the rumors simply because it kept would-be mischief-makers from exploring the farmstead and getting hurt. It certainly fit the description of a haunted house. The empty windows and weather beaten wood siding stared blankly back at any onlooker. The wind whispering through the rotting timber sounded uncannily like voices. It was enough to make even the most stubborn of skeptics feel the hair on the back of their neck rise. 

"I think so," Clark answered, rocking back in his chair. "I've never been there."

"You aren't missing much. But it would be good for some pictures and maybe we can turn up something there. I still can't believe that we are doing this! I'm telling you, Chloe, You. Are. Psycho," Pete insisted.

"Then tell me this. Who is worse? The psycho? Or the person who follows them?" Chloe asked, trying, and failing to imitate Alec Guinness' Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Pete glanced at her sideways. "God Chloe. Star Wars is sooo dead! Get with the now."

"Hey, the originals were good!" 

"They were ok for their time, but the new ones suck. You know its bad when the CGI characters can act more convincingly then the real actors."

Clark had to side with Pete. "He's right. But Ewan McGregor was good," he pointed out, "and Samuel Jackson."

"Hey! Don't get me wrong, Sam's my man! Yeah, those two were good, but the rest of it rivals the steaming piles of cow shit that you have shovel out of the barn every day my friend."

"So what movie do you think was better, Spiderman or Star Wars?" Clark asked. 

"Neither, Blade 2 is my movie of choice." Pete announced.

"Blade 2?" Clark raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Wesley Snipes rocks! Besides, he looks just like me. I think he is my long lost brother."

"Pete, what color is the sky in your world?"

"Shut up."

Chloe rolled her eyes at the banter. 

They watched the surprisingly busy street through the front window. Most nights, Smallville rolled up its sidewalks at 8 o'clock. But it appeared that the heat was keeping people out and about. "Say, Clark, I just picked up the Fast and the Furious DVD.  You wanna come over and watch it?" Pete offered.

Clark was tempted. He had missed it in the theaters. "Uh, what's it about again?" 

"Fast cars, hot chicks and fast cars," Pete grinned smugly.

"Who's in it?"

"Paul Walker and Vin Diesel."

"Who?"

"Oh. My God. Clark, you have got to get out more. You don't know who Vin Diesel is? Ever see Pitch Black?"

Embarrassed, Clark shook his head. He hated when Pete acted all superior like this. 

Pete smirked. "He's kinda short, bald and has a voice that girls just flip over." 

Chloe couldn't resist "Speaking of bald guys and fast cars, seen Lex lately?"

Blinking, Clark tried to keep up with Chloe's segue. "Not lately. He's been busy working on some project or other. He won't say what it is either."  Clark tried to keep his voice light and not caring. He considered Lex his best friend but for the past few months or so, he had only seen the young Luthor for brief moments, and the conversations were short. Not unfriendly, but he could tell the Lex's thoughts were on other things. Once, he had asked Lex what he was doing, and Lex's reply was "just business, nothing you need to worry about Clark." And that was that.  

"I think he's up to something," Chloe leaned foreword, motioning for the guys to do the same. Her eyes glowed with speculation. "I think Lex is working on something big."

"How do you know?" Clark asked, intrigued. Anything that involved Lex was always something of interest to him.

"Ever since Lex took over the plant, he has been up to something, but no one will say for sure what it is. And my dad has been acting really weird lately. Whatever Lex is up to, he knows what it is, but he won't say anything. He stays at the plant late at night and leaves early in the morning. You know that he has the worst poker face in the history of Smallville. He was practically giggling into his cornflakes this morning."

Snorting, Pete rolled his eyes. "I'll bet Lex is working on some plan to take over the world or something."

"Yeah, sure. That's gotta be it." Clark said sarcastically. "Like Lex could take do that."

"Hey, this is Lex Luthor we are talking about. If there is one person on this planet capable of anything, it's Lex." Chloe pointed out.

"You gotta admit Lex is one strange dude, even for Smallville." Pete said thoughtfully. 

Clark didn't want to talk about Lex anymore. He was getting rather worried about his friend, but there was no one he could really confide that worry to.  Shrugging, he said, "Well if Lex is really planning on taking over the world, I hope he gives me his Porsche."

Grinning, Pete gave him a high five. "Lets go watch the movie." Waving goodbye to Chloe, they headed for Pete's house.

Several hours later…

Clark's eyes snapped open as he sat up in his own bed, gasping for breath. His heart, which rarely increased its tempo under the heaviest exertions, was racing at the memory of his dream. Shaking, he reached up and pushed a heavy lock of hair out of his eyes, and ending up rubbing his forehead. It had seemed so real.

Sliding off his bed, he padded to the window and looked up into the clear sky. The moon shone brilliantly overhead, flanked by the few stars bright enough to be visible next to it. Clark judged it to be about two in the morning. Crickets chirped enthusiastically from below. It was still so humid that the terror-induced sweat wasn't drying.  Deciding that he didn't want to go back to sleep, he vaulted silently out the bedroom window, landing with a soft thud on the lawn. It was coated in dew, soaking his bare feet as he made his way to the barn.

Clark didn't dream often. Sometimes he dreamt of flying, or of Lana. But while these were pleasant, they were also infrequent and quickly faded. But this one had been different.  Someone was calling for help. He could hear that person as clear as day. No terror or desperation on the surface, but underneath, oh underneath, there was a note of fear that struck right into Clark's soul. He had tried to follow the sound of the voice, but it was fading, getting fainter even though Clark was running as fast as he could.  It continued to fade until it was nothing but a sigh on the dying breeze. 

The disturbing part was that it had sounded like Lex. He had heard his friend call for help before. But why would Lex need help now? It was tempting to run over to the castle and check on his friend, just as a reassurance that it was only a dream and that Lex was safe in his bed. But Clark restrained himself. It was 2 o'clock in the morning. He could wait until a civilized hour to see Lex. He climbed into his loft and plopped down on the sofa. There was more of a breeze up there, and he closed his eyes.

He was sure it had only been a dream and that Lex was fine. Sighing, he let himself drift off to sleep once again.

TBC


	4. Stone Walls

Fly Me Courageous

By Annabell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.

Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.

This is un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.

Note: This takes place as though Tempest never happened. Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.

Archive: Hell yeah!

Chapter 4

Lex tried to think clearly. He had no idea where they had taken him, only that it wasn't near a city, yet not far from Smallville, judging by the length of the drive they had taken. It was dark by the time they had finally stopped the pickup truck and hauled him out. There were no lights visible in the distance. Not getting a chance to take a look around, one of the thugs half-dragged him through tall, tangled grass by his elbow while the other walked ahead, apparently looking for something. The gag prevented him from asking questions. 

Trying to get his eyes to focus, he forced his feet to move. He didn't want that jerk to pull on his arms any more than necessary, rubbing the already raw spots where the rope was digging into his wrists. A hollow grassy thump reached his ears from in front of him. He tried to hesitate, but was propelled forward by a shove at the small of his back. A large hole gaped at his feet. At the back of his mind, Lex thought he could identify a storm cellar. Very few houses in the lower mid-west had basements. The ground simply was not suitable for digging large holes. So in an effort to escape the deadly tornados that spawned during the summer months, settlers had to make do with storm cellars. Barely more than holes in the ground, they provided adequate refuges when the killer winds descended on the Great Plains. Like the one the Kents had. Throwing himself backward in alarm, two sets of hands pushing him resolutely forward. Panic was starting to set in and he dug in his heels, trying to shout through the gag. 

A heavy blow exploded at the base of his skull, making him see stars and his knees go weak. Unable to form a coherent thought, let alone marshal the coordination to fight back, he was helpless to prevent them from shoving him into the pit. Stumbling at the rough cement lip of the hole, a stab of pure terror shot through him as he fell forward, knowing that he couldn't use his hands to save himself. He twisted his body in a futile effort to save himself from serious hurt.

He landed hard on the set of ancient wooden step with his left shoulder. The steps held his weight briefly, before giving way and letting him crash to the stone floor below. Pain tore through him, darkening his already nonexistent vision. Distantly he heard a muffled thud, some scuffling, and then the only thing he could hear was the beating of his own heart, accompanied by his breathing. He forced himself to focus past the pain, to push it to the back of his mind. After a while, he was able to ignore the pain enough for Lex to sit up and consider his situation logically.  He couldn't see and there was nothing to hear. He could smell old water, dampness and underneath that was the distinct odor of decay.

Forcing back the instinctive panic that stirred in the back part of his mind that controlled the primitive functions of the human behavior, Lex made himself think logically.

'_Okay you can deal with this. First things first, get untied.'_  

It was a sound strategy in theory, but putting it into practice was another thing. Twisting his hands in order to get his fingers near enough to the knots required intense concentration and a huge application of will, not to mention the cramps in his fingers. Lex's will had always been ironclad, and he never, ever gave up, even when the constant motion had rubbed his wrists to the point that blood was steadily dripping down into his hands, making the knots slippery. The cool dampness of the storm cellar did not prevent sweat from beading on his face, dripping into his eyes, making them sting. 

_'Why…why…won't these damned knots…come loose?'_

Finally, after an eternity, Lex felt the knots give and, shaking violently, eased his blood-soaked hands around to cradle in his lap. He allowed himself to rest for a moment before reaching up with his right hand and pulling the gag out of his mouth, leaving a damp smear of blood along his cheek. He couldn't raise his left arm any higher than his ribs.

He looked around, but there was nothing to see, it was simply too dark to make out anything about where he was. Feeling around, he located a wall. Using the rough, damp stone as a starting place, he slid his hand along the wall until he came to a corner.  It took him only a few minutes to determine that his prison was about fifteen feet across and twenty feet long. Reaching up, he was unable to touch the ceiling and thus determine how deep it was. Due to the steps breaking under his rapid descent, he had no way up either.

_'Options, Lex?'_

Feeling his way back to a corner, he put his back to the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the cold stone floor once again. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he let his head fall back against the wall and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Lex had discovered in the past that for a time, when the body is injured, the mind becomes curiously unclouded. A kind of crystalline clarity that can be utilized if a person had the fortitude to bear the pain.

Lex had that kind of fortitude. He focused past the aches and stings, instead considering the situation. After thinking about it from every angle he could imagine, he came up with several conclusions. The first one was that the men who had grabbed him had known where he was. That implied some type of inside knowledge, which meant that there had been a spy that Lex had missed. Or that someone had planted a tracking device on his car. Both scenarios were possible, and the more he pondered it, the more Lex favored the second.

The next conclusion he came to was that they would be coming back for him within a day or so. There was no food or water down in the cellar, and the human body cannot go very long without water. Two days would be about the limit of safety. The one guy had told him that they were after what was in his head, and so Lex concluded that they knew about his plans. 

But he still had no real idea who had done this. The list was incredibly long only if the people behind this had known what Lex had been working on. Very, very few people had any real idea and none of them with the exception of Lex himself knew the whole formula. 

First on his list of probable suspects would be his father, except this was far too tacky for Lionel to be behind this. Lionel was about subtlety and this situation was anything but. But the stakes were so high that maybe his father was resorting to desperation tactics? Lex shuddered at the thought of his familial situation was so fucked up that he could easily see his father doing this to him and not be too bothered by it.

Lex's eyes focused abruptly when he though he heard a noise from up above. Shoving himself to his feet, he braced his good arm against the wall. Listening with all his might, he thought he heard….something. It might have been footsteps. Had his kidnappers come back? Lex was betting that it was too soon. He figured they'd leave him down there for a day or so, to try to soften him up for when they came back to question him. Drawing in a breath, he decided to go for it.   

"Hey! Is someone there? I could really use a hand here." His voice was hoarse and he had to clear his throat several times to get the words out.

Silence. The sounds coming from above stopped, and Lex froze.  Had they heard him?

"Is anybody there? I'm locked down here."

Silence. There was nothing, no response. Not willing to give up hope, he tried again.

"Somebody? I need some help."

Silence.

Softer. His voice was giving out, as was his hope. "Help me?"

…

"please?"

It had been nothing. The hope that had flickered in his chest died just as quickly as it had been born. He slid back down, and started shivering. The silk did nothing to warm him against the cool dampness that pervaded the cellar. His wrists burned worse than ever and his shoulder throbbed. A ringing in his head was getting louder. The clarity that he had enjoyed was waning and his injuries were starting to cloud his thoughts. The only thing he could do was vow that he would endure this, get out of there, and get his revenge. 

No one reduced Lex Luthor to pleading and lived to tell about it. No one.

Not even dear old dad.

TBC

Note: the rating of this fic will be going up to R. 


	5. Phone Calls

Fly Me Courageous

By Annabell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.

Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.

This is un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.

Note: This takes place as though Tempest never happened. Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.

Archive: Hell yeah!

Chapter 5

By morning Clark had convinced that it had been just a dream. Sure, it had been a very intense, vivid _realistic _dream, but a dream nonetheless. Nothing in his repertoire of super abilities had ever hinted to him being psychic, or telepathic. 

It had been a dream, nothing more.

Even if Lex wasn't answering his cell phone. And the servants at the castle didn't know where Lex was when Clark called. (They promised that he would get Clark's message to return his call.) Lex was fine. Clark was sure…mostly.

And yet… 

As the day wore on, he became more and more distracted, keeping as ear tuned for the ringing of the telephone. For Lex to return his call. Nearly jumping out of his skin every time the phone did ring. His father noticed his unease as they were hitching the plow to the back of the old tractor and called him on it. "Something wrong there, son?" he asked, concern written in the faded, friendly blue eyes. 

Clark hesitated as he debated internally. He knew his father would move heaven and earth to help him with any problem except for the ones involving a certain son of Lionel Luthor. And therein lay the problem. Seeing his father waiting patiently, Clark decided to take an oblique approach. "Did you ever just get the feeling that something's wrong, only you don't know what it is exactly?" 

Jonathan Kent nodded thoughtfully. He thought he knew what his son was talking about. "I think everyone on this planet has had that feeling at one time or other. Most times it means nothing, but sometimes…" he trailed off, seeing Clark staring at him hopefully, like he had all the answers. He sighed. Sometimes being a parent was the hardest thing in the world to be. "I will admit that I don't believe in ESP, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't exist." Jonathan eyes narrowed as a sudden suspicion hit him. "Are you developing a new ability?" he asked.

Clark shifted from foot to foot with discomfort. "I don't think so, but I had this really weird dream last and I can't stop thinking about it," he admitted.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like it was intense," he set the words out as an offering that he was willing to listen, even if the dream was embarrassing to talk about. Like maybe about Lana.

Shrugging, Clark grinned a little sheepishly. "Yeah, it was." He knew his father was willing to listen, but this involved Lex, and his father wasn't always the most open-minded when it came to Lex. Shaking his head, he decided to drop the subject. "Anyway, Chloe wants me and Pete to go out to this old abandoned farmstead with her for a school project this afternoon." 

Recognizing the change of subject as a distraction, Jonathan smiled and gave his son a curious look. "Isn't it still summer vacation?" Seeing Clark nod, he just had to ask, "So why are you guys working on a project? You know you have chores," he reminded Clark.

Rolling his eyes, Clark grinned sheepishly. "Chloe kinda bullied us into helping her," he admitted.

Laughing, Jonathan Kent slapped his son on his shoulder. "All right, son. You can have the afternoon off." Seeing Clark grimace, he couldn't help adding, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You really should learn to stand up for yourself."

Clark's head came up at the sound of the phone ringing in the house in the distance. He listened intently, hearing his mother answer. Turning to his dad with a smile of relief lighting up his face. "That's for me."  

"The call you've been expecting?" Jonathan said. Seeing his son nod and shoot off to the house, the elder Kent wondered what was going on that seemed so important to Clark. Then turned back to the tractor. The fields weren't going to plow themselves.

In the house, Martha hadn't even bothered to call out to Clark that the phone was for him. She just handed him the phone with a knowing smile and went back to the kitchen where she was baking her cakes. Clark took the phone with a smile and turned his back to her, putting the phone to his ear and saying, without preamble, "You took log enough to call me," he said, thinking it was Lex finally returning his call.

"Clark?" It was Chloe, she sounded…strange. Like she was distracted.

"Chloe?" Clark asked, feeling the pit of his stomach drop. (An interesting feeling, and not a little disquieting.) It wasn't Lex.

"Clark? Are you watching TV?" she asked.

"No, I've been out helping my dad," Clark started to explain when she cut him off abruptly. 

"Turn it on, _now!"_ she demanded, almost fiercely. 

Stunned, Clark did what she said. His mother, sensing something wrong, came into the living room, wiping his flour-covered hands on a towel. "Clark?" she asked in concern.

Not answering, he pressed the on button, still holding the phone. The old TV took a few seconds for the picture to tune in, but the sound came in right away. 

'…reporting live from the Missouri river bridge where the breaking news is that the car reportedly belonging to Alexander Luthor, son of billionaire mogul Lionel Luthor, is now being pulled from the river. Apparently, according to eyewitnesses, the car had skidded off the bridge and crashed in the river forty-five minutes ago. Divers have been searching for Alexander, or Lex, as he in known by his friends, but so far there is no sign of him. According to the local sheriff, the river's currents are especially swift at this point. Lionel Luthor is unavailable for comment at this time, but we will keep trying to get a statement from him…" 

Martha stood with one hand pressed against her lips in shock, her eyes darting from Clark to the television screen and back to Clark again. "Oh, god." 

Clark hadn't moved at all, he just stood there; the phone still gripped in one hand, staring at the screen, his mouth working silently. Martha thought he might have said 'Lex," but she wasn't sure. Then Clark was gone in a blur and the phone dropped to the rug. Martha bent over to pick it up, faintly hearing Chloe's voice still on the other end.

"Clark?" Chloe was asking.

"I'm sorry, Chloe. This is Martha," Clark's mother said, still numb from the shock of the news she was watching. Lex…dead? She couldn't believe it.

"Oh, Mrs. Kent. Please, tell Clark that I'm so sorry. We were supposed to get together later, but now I think that we should do it some other time," Chloe was apologizing, and Martha was quick to reassure the teenager. She explained that Clark was in shock and had handed her the phone. Chloe accepted the explanation and hung up soon afterwards.  

Jonathan came in shortly afterward, looking for Clark. Martha was still staring at the television, and without turning around, took her husband's hand as she told him what had happened. Jonathan sighed and held her close. He knew that she had liked Lex, and despite his own dislike for the young Luthor, was sorry that Lex had gotten himself killed, for his son's sake of course. Glancing up at the television, he cursed suddenly, causing Martha to look up and ask what was wrong. She stifled a gasp.

There, on the screen that was still at the sight of the breaking news, Clark was in the background, staring at the river hard.

"What the heck is he doing?" Jonathan asked harshly.

"Looking for Lex," Martha said, numb with heartbreak for her son's futile efforts. As the Kents watched, Clark had turned his back to the camera was slowly walking downriver, still staring at it intently. 

"But there is no way that Lex could have survived underwater for so long." Jonathan said.

"He's looking for the body," Martha replied, half filled with heartsickness and horror at the grisly mission her son had set for himself.

"How does Clark think that he will find him?" 

Closing her eyes, Martha murmured, "X-ray vision."

"The current is too strong," Jonathan said softly. "Lex's body would have been pulled downriver, and who knows if it will ever be found." Damn lunatic kid. Even dying Lex had managed to disrupt the Kent's lives. 

The rest of the day, the Kents tried to make some semblance of normality, but it was trying. People, knowing of Clark's friendship with Lex, kept calling, ostensibly to convey their condolences, but to Martha, it felt as if they were almost gloating. She was glad that Clark wasn't there to hear them. Occasionally, Jonathan would come in, and seeing her concerned look, would shake his head. No, Clark wasn't home yet.

It wasn't until after dark that Jonathan saw a light on in the hayloft. He and Martha, hand in hand, walked out to the barn and climbed the step, pausing at the top to look at their son.

Clark looked terrible. He was sitting on the couch, with his head in his hands. His clothes were nearly ruined from his long, swift run and streaked with grim. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was an absolute mess. But none of that mattered when he looked up at his parent, and swallowed hard. Martha had never seen him look so lost.

"He's gone. I couldn't even find his body."

TBC


	6. Down Fall

Fly Me Courageous

By Annabell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.

Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.

This is un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.

Note: This takes place as though Tempest never happened. Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.

Spoilers: None as of yet.

Archive: Hell yeah!

Author's note: Sorry it's been so long, but work has been hell lately. I'd like to thank all of you who have taken that time to review. It helps me stay focused.

Chapter 6

A noise above Lex drew his attention. He figured it had been almost a full day since he had been thrown down here, wherever 'here' was. Throughout the day, narrow beams of sunlight had stabbed down through minute cracks in the overhead wooden doors, illuminating lazy dust motes and giving Lex a dimly gloomy visual of his prison. Now the sunlight was fading fast and the gloom was deepening.

After wrapping his raw and bleeding wrists with the torn handkerchief that had been his gag, he had spent the day trying to get out of the hole he was confined to. Despite only having the use of one hand, Lex had managed to pile up enough broken and rotted lumber to reach the heavy set of wooden doors overhead, but they were barred from the outside. After some futile pushing, pounding and yelling, Lex put that tactic on hold. He jumped (or fell) off his makeshift step and returned to his corner to think of another way.

However, productive thought was difficult due to his body's demands for attention. He was thirsty, so thirsty! He tried to remember the last time he drank something, and thought it had been about 28 hours previously. It had been even longer since he had eaten but that was becoming less of a problem, since his stomach had quieted after being so long without food. Too long, he knew, but was grateful for even that miniscule reprieve.

As the darkness grew, so did his tension. They would be coming soon to ask him questions. Questions that he had no intention of answering. He knew it would most likely be painful for him, but if he could hold out long enough, someone would find him.  He was Lex Luthor after all and Lionel's son could not just disappear without consequences. His father, if he weren't behind this whole sordid mess in the first place would be tearing apart the state looking for him. And even if dear old dad wasn't busting his ass, there was Clark. 

Closing his eyes, Lex dearly hoped that it was his father who found him. Clark was his best friend but the Save-Lex-From-Evil-Of-The-Week routine was getting just a little bit ridiculous. He had _never_ needed to be saved so much before he came to Smallville. 

His musings were interrupted by the muffled sound of an engine. He climbed to his feet and tried to compose himself. He didn't want his kidnappers to think that this was going to be easy. Lex was going to make sure they worked for every little bit they got, and he wasn't going to give them much at all.

The door overhead swung open with a groan of rusty hinges and a flashlight swept through the pit until it settled on Lex. He squinted but kept his face neutral. _Here it comes,_ he thought.

"Hello, Lex. Sorry about the less-than-stellar accommodations, but you moved faster than we had anticipated," said a horrifyingly familiar voice.

"Hamilton!" So much for neutrality. What the hell…?

"Glad you remembered me," Dr. Hamilton said dryly. 

Unable to see much due to the light shining continuously in his eyes, Lex thought he could just make out the outline of two others standing behind the doctor. They jumped down into the pit and their sheer size made him glad that he discarded the physically attacking his attacker option. 

He felt his heartbeat speed up as adrenaline surged through his body. Hamilton had been an unexpected factor. Lex knew that the doctor was heavily involved with his experiments with the meteor rocks, so why was he here? "It's interesting that you are here, doctor, since I was under the impression that you were working for me." Lex was proud that his voice was steady, even a hint of threat in it.

Hamilton was unimpressed, which was completely out of character for him. "You are mistaken Lex," he said as he too slipped easily down into the confines of Lex's prison. "I received an offer that I just couldn't pass up."

"Really?" Lex raised an eyebrow, thinking furiously, trying to figure out who had the capitol and the incentive to lure Hamilton away. His father maybe? "And what could they offer you that I couldn't?"

The doctor's grin was pure mercenary. "Why, the greatest scientific find that the medical community has ever seen."

Lex tried to follow Hamilton's direction, but it was hard since Lex had not the faintest idea what the scientist was talking about. He glanced at the two others that had so far not participated in the conversation. He figured that they were there for the intimidation factor, and nothing else. Hamilton was the one who had the information. "Care to fill me in on this discovery, doctor? As you know, I am very fascinated by science myself." Lex knew he was sounding rather boarding-school, but he needed answers, dammit!

"Lex, Lex, Lex." The doctor shook his head in mock sadness at Lex.  Lex was getting worried. He was missing something, but he couldn't quite make out what it was. "All the time I worked for you and you never told me. I'm hurt that I had to find out from others about it."

Drawing a deep breath, Lex relaxed just the slightest bit. So Hamilton really was after his 'formula'. He could deal with that.  "Well, doctor.  I guess I missed your name on my list of confidants."

One of the musclemen stirred, as if it was impatient and Hamilton seemed to mentally shake himself. "Right then. Let's get started shall we?"

"Let's," Lex mocked and slipped his hands into his front pockets, trying to project the image of cool indifference.  He gestured at the goons. "But are they necessary? This is the twenty first century and that type of behavior went out with Francis Coppola." Lex knew his strategy was desperate, but then so was his situation. If he could get the doctor to play along, Lex had the ability to turn this situation around. 

Hamilton glanced with genuine surprise at the two men, who had all the expression of vanilla. "You think that we will beat the information out of you? Ah, Lex. I'm disappointed." 

The doctor sounded so much like his father that Lex couldn't stop his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.  Take a brief second to recover; he saw the gleam in the doctor's brown eyes. "Then how are you planning to do this? Because, Dr. Hamilton, I really have no intention of telling you anything."

Gesturing at one of them, (Lex couldn't make a distinction between the two since they both held flashlights that were trained on him) Hamilton took a bag that one was holding.  He rooted around for a second or so. He explained to Lex what he meant. "Well Lex. I admit that you might pose a problem. My employers have provided me with detailed information about you and I know that ever since you were little, oh, say about 9 years old, drugs have no effect on you."

"How did you know that?" Lex was stalling, trying to regain his equilibrium, but it was difficult. Employers? Who? Someone close. His father? And how the hell did they know about Lex's body's ability to neutralize any chemical that invaded it?

"C'mon Lex. You. Are. Lionel Luther's _son_. People watch you all the time. Did you think that all those years of rebellion, of the use of hard drugs, would go unnoticed and that you never once got hooked? Cocaine, Heroine, LSD, crack, acid, Valium, PCP, methamphetamines, and no withdrawal? You walk around today as clean as a whistle. Yet less than two years ago you were purchasing and using enough heroine to kill a horse. So the problem for my employers is, how do they get the information they want from you?"

"Enter Dr. Hamilton." Lex added snidely, trying to conceal his shaking.

Grinning in self-deprecation, the doctor nodded. "Yes, you see, my work with the meteor rocks has become of interest in a few circles. Put that together with the fact that you have never gotten sick since the day you were exposed to the meteors, one would think that they had something to do with your condition. So the conclusion that was reached was that if meteors had given your body this particular ability, then maybe they could take it away." With that, Dr. Hamilton drew out a large syringe that, to Lex's horror glowed faintly green. He pressed his back against the cold cement wall behind him, fighting to maintain his calm.  

"So what do you get out of this?" Lex asked, still trying to stall while he tried to find a way out. There had to be a way out. But all he could seem to focus on was the green glow in the doctor's hand.

Smiling almost tenderly, the doctor looked at Lex possessively. "I get you."

Stunned, Lex blinked. "What?" God, his voice was hoarse. He needed water desperately.

"You, Lex. They promised me that after I got the information, I could have you." The doctor had definitely got off the deep end.

"Why?" Lex knew he was losing control, but desperation drove him on. 

"Because Lex. You do not get sick." The doctor paced a few steps back and forth as he warmed up to his subject.  "Now I want to know how your body fights diseases and bacteria. Just think, I could spend a lifetime experimenting on you, discovering your secrets. Imagine if because you I were to find the cure for AIDS? I'd get the Nobel Prize for sure. And who knows what else?"

"You are a sick bastard," Lex replied shakily. "You won't get away with this. Do you think that my father will just sit idle and let you do this to me?"

"Your father is 'looking' for you now, as a matter of fact, Lex. Well, your body actually. You are fond of history aren't you? Then you should know that history repeats itself over and over again. It seems that your Porsche went off the Missouri River Bridge south of Metropolis this afternoon. And of course there were witnesses swear that you were driving."

"Paid witnesses," Lex said bitterly and Hamilton nodded, pleased at Lex's understanding.

_They think I'm dead. So much for a last minute rescue. Lex thought wildly. __Looks like I'm on my own. Damn. The image of Clark tearing open the doors and rescuing him was fading fast. Licking his dry lips, his thoughts spun from idea to idea, but he couldn't see a way out. He would just have to endure whatever they gave him.  He just wished that his stomach would stop tying itself into knots. Some of what he was feeling must have shown on his face because Hamilton smiled at him in a sick parody of reassurance. _

"Relax Lex. You should feel honored. You will be very valuable to the human race when all is said and done."

"If I'm so valuable, why you are keeping me here, in this pit?" Lex asked with scathing sarcasm. He would not let then know how scared he was. He would not, dammit!

"Again, I must apologize for this place. But rest assured, this is only temporary. As I said earlier, you moved faster than my employers anticipated and the facility that is being prepared for you isn't yet completed. You will be moved there as soon as it's ready. Now, quit stalling. My employers want your 'formula' as soon as possible." Hamilton grinned, and Lex swallowed hard as he saw the gleam in the doctor's eye. 

That gleam wasn't quite sane.

Lex tried to slip to the side of the approaching syringe-wielding madman, but was intercepted by one of the two goons. He was grabbed brutally by his injured shoulder, making him see stars as he felt himself shoved up against the cold, and unyielding cement wall behind him.

"No!" he tried to shout, but it only came out as a drunken murmur. He watched in detached fascination, as the needle seemed to puncture the pale skin on his inner forearm.  The sickly green fluid made its way into his vein, pulsing obscenely as it invaded his body. The needle withdrew, and so did the imprisoning hands.    

No longer supported, Lex's legs gave out and he slid down the wall, still staring at the tiny trickle of blood dripping slowly down his arm. He could feel his body trying to fight the chemical cocktail that had been forced on him, but with a twist of nausea, he knew that he was going to lose. Nothing he had ever encountered in his years of experimentation had prepared him for the sheer agony, as his veins seemed to burn with spreading horrid green fire. 

"Lex?" Hamilton's voice was far away, or maybe Lex was, he couldn't be sure. Who was calling him? Oh yes, Hamilton. What did he want? It was hard to think, with the burning that was working its way to his heart with every passing beat. Instinctively he knew he was in serious jeopardy of a total system failure. What the hell had Hamilton been thinking? Where was Clark? Wasn't he supposed to charge in at this time, knock the bad guys down and shrug and look uncomfortable when Lex questioned him about it later?

"The 'formula', Lex. What is it?" 

Lex blinked lethargically, unable to fight his way across the barrier of fire that was enveloping him like one of those raging forest fires in California that was started by some homeless fool who was trying to cook a meal. _What formula? _

_God, it burns. _

_Make it stop. _

_Make it stop. _

_Make it stop. _

Lex wasn't sure if he actually said the words out loud. His eyes focused blearily on the sweaty face in front of him. He thought he saw a look of concern in Hamilton's eyes and knew with rock solid certainty that the doctor had fucked up and Lex was going to die. It would have been funny if it hadn't hurt so badly.

"Lex, the formula. Tell me," said the insistent voice.

Lex could only shake his head helplessly. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk; it was that he was unable to form words with his mouth. The fire was robbing him of his ability to control his body. He thought Hamilton was speaking to him, but all he could hear was the roar of the inferno. 

And as the world dissolved into flame, his only thought was a ridiculous one, considering the circumstances. 

_I am never going to buy another Porsche again. Bad luck._

TBC


	7. On the Brink

Fly Me Courageous

By Annabell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.

Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.

Additional warning. This part contains graphic violence. You have been warned.

This is a rough draft and un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.

Note: Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.

Archive: Hell yeah!

Chapter 7

Clark _knew_ he was dreaming this time. And yet it felt so real that he wanted to vomit.

He was walking through a cornfield; maybe it was the same one where jealous football players had strung him up, maybe not. Cornfields tended to look alike when the corn is taller than even he is.  The dry dark green stalks were whispering to each other as he made his way through them, rustling with unease on some nonexistent breeze. With his enhanced vision, he thought he could just detect a hint of sickly green about them that made his skin crawl. Most people associated the color green with life, growing things, nature. But Clark had always thought that green was the color of rot and decay. He couldn't figure out what he was doing in that cornfield, but such dreams are rarely dictated by the wishes of the dreamer.

Up ahead, he could make out a strong green glow (again, the color green) over the top of the tasseling cornstalks, illuminating part of the sky. He knew that color well, it was the color of the meteor rocks reacting to his presence, and the sight alone made his insides twist with apprehension and something deep inside him began to clamor that he should just get out of there.  But at the same time he was drawn forward. It was similar to the morbid compulsion draws a person toward the scene of some hideous accident, knowing that whatever horrible sight that awaits him will keep him up for many nights, afraid to sleep because the appalling scene that has branded itself into his memory and will not leave, no matter how much he wishes it would. And even though he _knew_ that is what is going to happen, he still _has_ to look. As if sensing his hesitation, the corn parted in front of him on its own volition, giving him a clear line of sight to what was waiting for him, the source of that nameless green terror.

Unable to feel his feet, he moved forward, somehow knowing that what he was going to see would haunt him the rest of his days, but there is no choice. 

He _has to look._

And it was much, much worse than he could have ever imagined.

It was Lex. 

And Lex wasn't dead.

And Clark almost wished that he were dead, rather than…where he was.

Lex was standing with his back pressed to a tall wooden post, ropes wrapped around his torso and thighs.   Piles of bramble and dead branches where gathered at his feet, smoldering with green smoke that rose twisting in the air, but there was no sign of a fire. In the back of his mind, Clark wondered where the fire was, but his main focus was on his friend. Lex's eyes were closed, and there was a tight look of pain on his face. His fists were clenched at his sides. He was whispering something, but Clark couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Lex!" his voice was a mere breath, the single syllable an interruption of his exhalation.  

As Clark stared in sickening horror, he became aware of another's voice, driving, insistent, and demanding. It was echoing as if from the bottom of a deep well. Lex squirmed as if the sound of that voice were hurting him; he was slowly shaking his head, not opening his eyes. What was the voice saying? Clark didn't know, he couldn't make out the words. All he knew was that Lex was suffering, wounded, and Clark was just standing there, doing nothing to help.

Jaw set with determination, Clark tried to get near enough to untie his best friend, but as he approached the smoking pyre, he felt the familiar nauseating sickness descend over him and he stumbled back with a panicked gasp, tripping over his feet and sprawling in the dry powdery dirt. Mouth open, he tried again and again, but the meteor smoke kept him at bay, almost hissing a cobra warning at him to stay back. Trembling with sickness and unable to get close, Clark tried to reach Lex with his voice.

"Lex!" he managed to croak.

As if in response to Clark's voice, Lex turned his head slightly toward him and opened his eyes. Clark's stomach did a slow role. Lex's eyes were no longer blue, no longer _there_. Instead the empty sockets were now filled with blazing green fire that flickered with agony. The clear fluid-like jelly that once filled Lex's human eyes was now trickling down his cheeks in an obscene mockery of tears. And now Clark _did_ vomit when he realized that the fire was inside Lex, consuming him _from the inside out._ He heaved again and again, shaking violently as he witnessed his friend, his dead friend, somehow alive, being shockingly tortured. 

"LEX!"

Clark once again shot up in his bed, sweat pouring down his face and his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to orient himself. Had he shouted Lex's name out loud?  He listened for the sound of his parents' breathing, steady and even in sleep. With partial relief, Clark decided that he hadn't shouted and disturbed his parents' hard-earned sleep with his nightmares. But a younger part of him, the part that was still a child, wished that his mother would come and hold him. 

With a half sob, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and put his hands on his face. God, what was with him? Was he losing his mind? Lex was dead, why was he dreaming that his friend was still alive? And in terrible trouble? Scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Clark looked over at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on his nightstand. 

2:48a.m.

Knowing that he would not get anymore sleep that night, Clark once again ended up in the hayloft, contemplating the stars and trying to get past the dream. Drawing a deep breath of sultry August air, Clark tried to consider the situation.  Was he subconsciously feeling guilty because he hadn't been able to save Lex? Was that why he couldn't sleep anymore? 

If he was honest with himself, Clark knew that he had never had to endure the loss of anyone close to him. Sure, death was not unknown to him; Clark had seen many people die. Mostly, it had been strange, altered people who had been changed by meteor rocks. The closest he had ever come to caring was Whitney's father, but then again Clark had only been on the periphery. And the grief had been more for Lana and even Whitney, more than himself.  Up until now, death had not claimed anyone Clark had really cared about.

But this time...Lex hadn't been some strange mutant. Oh, he could be strange, but that was part of Lex's weird charm. He was a bald twenty-two year old son of a billionaire. He quoted Machiavellian passages and lived in a castle. He read comic books and hung out with the dorky sixteen-year-old alien adopted by a dirt-poor organic farmer. Okay, maybe he didn't realize that last part, at least Clark didn't _think_ that Lex knew his secret, but you could never be sure of anything when it came to Lex. But anyway… yeah, the guy was strange. But he was still a good friend, even a great friend. 

And now he was dead. Clark still couldn't believe it. It didn't seem _real._ He even had a hard time believing that Lex was dead in his dreams.

And now Clark couldn't sleep. With grim resignation, he sat and waited for the night to drag itself out and the sun to come up.  

His body was burning. There was only one escape from the inferno that replaced the blood in his veins. The green flames seethed through him as relentless as fire on a drought-stricken prairie, but the blackness brought relief. He knew it was an illusion, that the darkness merely cloaked the pain, not taking it away like it promised, but he wasn't going to be picky about where he sought refuge.

And then Voice had come from far away and he tried to ignore it by trying to burrow further into the darkness but the Voice burned away that tenuous comfort like mist in the sunlight. It had probed, questioned, and demanded. No matter how he twisted and turned, the almost-familiar Voice refused to let him alone until, out of desperation, he opened his mouth to tell the Voice what it wanted. Maybe then, the Voice would let him alone and he could go back to the darkness where the burning couldn't reach him.

But then another Voice had pulled him back to the light. This new Voice reminded him of strength, trust and, most of all, hope. Hope that somehow, if he hung on long enough, someone would find him and help him. With a breath reminiscent of a drowning victim getting a lifesaving taste of air, he started coughing. And the terrible burning in his body and blood receded just the slightest bit. Not nearly enough to diminish his distress, but enough to give him…hope. Over the roaring in his ears, he could hear other voices.

"You were right doctor, he could take that dosage. I admit I was worried there for a while."  Speaking above his head. He didn't know this one.  

A light was shining in his face. It was too harsh, hurting his closed eyes and making his head throb. And the first voice spoke again. That Voice. The voice that wouldn't leave him alone. It was familiar but instead of reassurance, the accompanying feeling was of unease. He wanted to get away from that voice but it wouldn't let him go. It pulled him, prodded him like a recalcitrant colt back to consciousness. He drew another breath, the air cooling the burning in his lungs. 

"Be quiet," the familiar voice said, edged with impatience. He decided he really didn't like it and vainly longed for the refuge of the darkness.  "Lex, the formula, what is it?"

Lex? Who was Lex? Was it him? He mulled it over, his thoughts were fragmented, disjointed, but it felt right. Yes, okay. 

He was Lex. Score one for the home team. (_what?_) 

"The formula, Lex. What is it?"

Formula. Formula. What formula…oh yes. He was beginning to remember now. The muzzy feeling was ebbing and the series of chemicals equations were surfacing, like bloated, decaying corpses after a flood. But as the 'formula' came back to him, so did other things. Things like memories, and consciousness, and he knew now that his body was fighting, swiftly neutralizing the toxic chemicals that nearly killed him. Though it had been very, very close, he had fought and won. _And whatever doesn't kill you, Lex…_

 He understood what was happening.

Lex opened his eyes. He was lying on the damp stone floor of the pit. The cold a blessed relief from the angry fire that still burned in his veins.  Hovering above him like a fever-dream, Dr. Hamilton's face swam into focus. Despite the cool air, the man's face was shiny with sweat. Lex went on the offensive with a twist his lips. There must have been something wrong with his smirk, (or right, depending on how you looked at it) because the doctor recoiled just the slightest bit, and he thought he heard one of the two goons draw in a quick breath. With disguised relief and each passing heartbeat, he was bringing himself under control again. Something had brought him back from the brink, and though he didn't know what it was exactly, Lex was never one to pass up an opportunity. He had been taught by the master himself at how to take full advantage of the slightest chance to gain the upper hand in any situation.

_Thanks dad._

Licking his lips nervously, sweat now dripping down his face, the doctor cleared his throat. He opened his mouth and asked the question again, his voice cracking just the slightest bit with apprehension. It was ridiculous really, because Lex was weak as a newborn kitten. But the doctor felt there was something…off about the young Luthor. Dr. Hamilton could sense it, and unknown factors were...disquieting.  Still, he had been paid to do a job, which had huge benefits besides. "The formula, Lex. Tell me."

Lex rolled over on his side and levered himself up with his good arm. Summoning his best Luthor composure, he tried to minimize the trembling of his limbs as he glanced with icy disdain at the doctor. "Do you really think that just one dose of some souped-up truth serum and I'd tell you? You'll have to do better than that, Dr. Hamilton," he sneered, his voice ragged and hoarse.

The doctor stood up, and glanced back at his companions with palpable nervousness. Then recovered his wits. Lex was weakened, and though this newest development was not good, it wasn't entirely unexpected. He knew that Lex was going to be tough. And despite his momentary lapse, Hamilton recovered and grinned with renewed enthusiasm and admiration. Lex was proving to be everything he had hoped, and more. He looked forward to finding out everything there was to know about Lex Luthor. 

"Don't worry Lex. We have all the time in the world. It's not like anyone is looking for you." His smile was the smile of the sharks.

And despite his bravado, Lex felt his stomach tighten.  He knew that it was only just beginning.

TBC.


End file.
